The Man

Katharine was bent over, watering plants on her porch.

No makeup, late 30s, a little overweight, with a headband holding hair out of her eyes, she was a fairly average woman doing a routine chore.

Her running shorts were medium green with light blue trim. The pant legs were long, at least for running shorts. She had white panties on under the shorts. Not that anyone could see them.

She wore a black sports bra. It had wide straps, exposed no cleavage, and went halfway down her torso. Underneath was a white bra. Not that anyone could see that either.

Her running shorts were taut over her backside as she bent over. It was the only thing remotely sexy about the whole scene.

She sensed a presence behind her and started to rise.

"May I?"

His voice was quiet yet clear. The sounds of birds singing, cars passing by, radios playing, and kids hollering became hushed.

She froze, physically and mentally. She knew who he was. She had been recommended. She had been waiting for him. But still, her brain froze when he spoke.

She wasn't scared. Not of him. She knew why he was there. She knew what he would do. She wanted him to do it.

If what she had heard was right, she was being offered perhaps the greatest experience of her life. One wrong move and it might disappear. That's what she was scared of. Making a mistake.

Her mind was a jumble. She knew what to say, but her brain didn't know how to form the words. Her tongue didn't work.

Hands were placed on her hips, barely touching her. Calming hands. Her body relaxed. Her brain began to work again.

"May I?" he asked a second time.

She bent back down and found her voice. Sort of.

"You may," she croaked.

His hands guided her to the Adirondack chair by the door. She placed her hands on the arms of the chair. That was more comfortable. She could hold herself up using her arms instead of her back.

Suddenly, she felt lighter. Not physically, not like she lost weight. As if the air around her was lighter. As if her soul was lighter. The sounds of kids, cars, radios, and birds disappeared.

The hands were gentle, so gentle at her hips. They took her running shorts and panties - took them over her thighs, over her knees, over her calves - to her ankles. She stepped out of them.

He set them aside. There was no other way to say it. He didn't drop, fold, throw, or toss them. He set them aside like precious relics garments to be preserved for later.

"I better do my top," she thought, "I don't want to see him."

She had been warned. Don't look at him. That was fine, but it was also odd. There was no hint of him at all, even in her peripheral vision. No flash of shirt sleeve or cuff of his pants, no shoe between her feet. He was only a presence that she felt behind her.

She pulled the sports bra over her head and dropped it on the chair. It didn't fall, it floated gracefully down to the chair.

Tender hands unhooked her bra. Her back was pleasantly warmed wherever his hands rested. The bra dangled from her shoulders for a moment. She shrugged and it landed on the chair. Her regular, slightly funky, slightly old bra somehow looked sexier resting there.

She took a deep breath. She was naked on her front porch. Exposed for all her neighbors to see. She was bent over, waiting to have sex with a stranger. She nodded slightly, but firmly. Yes, this was what she wanted.

He looked at the treasure he had uncovered between her legs. All women had a treasure, each unique. The newly exposed lips tempted him to enter immediately, as they always did. He resisted the temptation, as he always did. No need to rush. There was plenty of time.

Sometimes he wished he could do whatever he wanted. Thrust in and satisfy himself and no one else. But that wouldn't be fair. The woman was sharing her treasure with him. It was only right that he share himself with her.

His hands were on her hips. They moved, touching here and there. Touching places that weren't always considered sensitive. Touching her back, shoulders, and neck. Touching her stomach, waist, and sides.

The touches aroused her. The touches made her wet.

She didn't understand. It wasn't just that she was aroused. Every place he touched became aroused. Her shoulders were aroused. Her sides were aroused. It was as if pieces of her body were becoming connected to her vagina.

The touches continued. She was so aroused, so wet that her vagina was leaking, fluid dribbling down her leg. She was desperate. Desperate to finger herself, to find relief. Desperate for him to take the next step.

There was a touch on her inner thigh. She opened her legs wider. The man caressed her crotch.

He touched everywhere. Touched her pubic hair, the little crease by the leg, her lips, her bottom, and her inner thighs. Touches in the most sensitive of places, touches like she had never felt before.

The touches went on. It was too much. The arousal was too much.

It was more than a person could take. She was going out of her mind. What word meant more than aroused? What meant more than desperate? She heard herself pleading.

"Please. Please. Take me."

There was a different touch. The one she waited for. His penis parted her lips. It moved slowly, up and down, drawing out the agony and the pleasure.

It went inside. It was like nothing she had ever felt. She had been taken in this position before but never like this. The penis filled her, warmed her, calmed her, loved her.

Every nerve she had reacted. Her fingers and toes felt his penis slip inside. Her mouth and breasts felt his penis enter. It was everywhere in her body. Shoulders, back, waist, sides - everywhere - were filled with his penis. It was in her very bones.

A breeze wafting across her breasts made her nipples tingle. Her mouth went dry but was still moist. She panted rapidly without gasping for air.

It ... Was ... Too ... Much.

Her house disappeared. The porch disappeared. The world disappeared. She was floating on a cloud, a fluffy white cloud.

The man was still with her. She didn't know where but he was on the cloud with her. With her and inside her.

Quick thrusts, slow thrusts. Ramming in deep, barely in and barely moving. His penis seemed to expand and contract, filling her so tight it could scarcely move, shrinking until it was a faint tickle.

The combinations of speed and force and fullness seemed to have an infinite variety. Combinations that met her every desire, even before she knew it was a desire.

Pleasure swept her body. She was having an orgasm. An orgasm like no other. Every cell in her body was having an orgasm. It was the pleasure of an orgasm raised a thousand times over.

Usually, she thrashed and screamed. She was noisy when she came. Not now. She lay on her cloud, at peace, savoring a pleasure so intense she couldn't begin to describe it.

She couldn't move, she didn't want to move. She didn't want to spoil perfection.

The sensations inside her continued and she had a second orgasm. And a third.

Three beautiful orgasms as she floated on her cloud. Three orgasms should have left her chafed and sore. She dismissed the thought and watched it fall to the ground.

He still moved inside her, maintaining her pleasure.

Oh, she wished she could live the rest of her life like this. It was ... Nirvana. The word floated through her mind.

"That's where I am," she thought, "Nirvana."

His penis moved faster. Soon it would be over. She drifted quietly along, eyes closed, serene.

She felt him go deep inside her. Cum filled her, more cum than she thought humanly possible.

His movements inside slowed. Her cloud floated gently to earth. The movements stopped. His penis pulled out. She stepped off her cloud.

The house reappeared. The porch reappeared. Birds chirped, kids hollered, cars went by, radios played.

She was naked on her front porch. Naked and alone. She hadn't seen the man leave. She hadn't seen him at all, not even his hands.

Was it all a dream? A hallucination?

She felt between her legs. She was wet. There was cum on her fingers. It wasn't a dream.

Picking up her clothes, she went into the house and called her younger sister.

"I recommended you." She hung up the phone.

She didn't recall making the recommendation, but she knew she had. Her sister was now on the man's list to visit.

Her poor sister had been picking loser boyfriends since she was 13 years old. Twenty plus years of bad choices. Gamblers, abusers, drunks, addicts, cheaters, and lazy bums. She wanted her sister to have at least one moment of joy. More than joy.

Bliss. Nirvana. Heaven. Peace.

Katharine had gotten a similar call almost a month before from her best friend. There were only two rules, she was told.

You must answer 'You may' when asked 'May I?'. Fumble the answer and he would give you a second chance. Try to be cute or witty or engage in conversation and he would leave immediately, never to return.

The second rule was you couldn't look at him. A few women had tried. None could describe him, beyond saying he was the most handsome person they had ever seen. They knew nothing about his height, weight, skin color, eyes, or hair.

If you looked, the experience ended. It didn't matter if the look happened at the beginning or middle or near the end. Look and it was over and you would regret it the rest of your life.

One woman said, "It was like I was floating on a cloud, and the cloud disappeared."

Her sister was now on the list. Katharine knew her sister would be over soon to hear all the details. Not that she could describe much. The feelings, the sensations went well beyond words. How do you explain how your breasts, your fingers, your very bones became part of your vagina?

How do you explain the feeling of floating on a cloud? A pleasure a thousand times stronger than any pleasure experienced before?

She glanced at the clock and stared. Checked the time on her cell phone and cable box. They all agreed. She had stepped outside to water the plants three hours before. Three hours! She smiled.

Katharine would share that with her sister when she arrived. They would rehash what they knew about the man. Knowledge that had been passed from woman to woman, each adding their own tidbit.

The existence of the man was a phenomenon hidden from the world at large. It was a crazy story. Those who had been taken told only the closest of their friends.

Of course, close friends told the crazy story to their own close friends. Strangers would hear a whisper and join the community of those who knew. Through all the telling and retelling, each woman understood, without being told, that it was a secret to be shared with discretion.

Katharine knew she wasn't his first visit. The man had visited her best friend. Her best friend's sister before that. A cousin even earlier.

Nobody knew who had been the first or even how many visits there had been. Nobody knew how many were on his list to visit next. Naturally, no one knew his name.

They did know he only visited women who had been recommended. That visits were always made during the day and only outdoors.

Each visit lasted for hours. Hours a naked woman spent having sex in public during the day. Yet nobody ever noticed. Police were never called, neighbors never made snide comments, no photos or videos made their way to the Internet. It was as if the man and the woman were invisible.

Katharine smiled. Not invisible. On a cloud, far away.

Most were on a cloud, some swam under the sea, a rare few stood on a mountain top. How could that be? There was speculation the man was a hypnotist. It was all an illusion. The man had developed a new drug. A sexual hallucinogen that he injected. Fringe groups thought he was an alien or a supernatural being. The Superman of sex.

Most women had no idea how it was done, just a firm belief that it was real.

A final thing was known. Like Katharine, the women who had been visited found it impossible to describe adequately. It was easy to say, "I floated on a cloud." It was impossible to describe the peace, comfort, calmness, and everything else that went with that statement.

One woman said, "It was glorious on top of glorious."

Katharine knew one more thing. She was pregnant. With the baby she had desired for years.

There were whispers about such things. For most women, the man was the best sex of their lives. Glorious on top of glorious sex but, fundamentally, nothing more than a good fuck.

For a few women, the man was life-changing. Tortured souls found peace. The confused found clarity. The abused found safety. The abandoned found a home. Barren women conceived.

The doctor had said she didn't produce enough eggs. The few she produced came at the wrong time. Her womb wasn't ready. Getting pregnant was highly unlikely. He didn't say she was barren, but that's what he meant.

She had been angry and bitter. She had become resigned to her fate. She finally had accepted it as her lot in life and put it behind her. But deep inside, she still harbored the desire, the need to be a mother.

Katharine knew she was pregnant. She had seen it happen as she floated on her cloud.

She watched his sperm swim for her uterus. Saw one lonely egg release from each ovary and float down her Fallopian tubes. Saw the sperm gather round. Saw the fertilized eggs nestle into her uterine wall.

A routine biological process. Except, the odds of her releasing one egg at the right time was incredibly low. Releasing two at the right time was impossible.

It would take a few weeks to confirm but, impossible as it might be, she knew she was pregnant. With twins.

There was half a glass of wine on the counter. Katharine had set it there three hours earlier to go water the plants on the porch. An average woman doing a routine chore.

She poured it down the sink.

"No more wine for me," she thought, "at least not for the next nine months."